


A funeral for the stars up above

by OblivionAwaits (Sirius_Ica)



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 13:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21137369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirius_Ica/pseuds/OblivionAwaits
Summary: Jensen thought it was the worst game he had ever played, he thought he fucked up hard, and he singlehandedly lost everything that was precious to him and the team.Doublelift recorded that video in his room and had something to tell him.//More friendship than ship, really. Just some talking and some crying and some goodnights and some sad kids. Exactly what one need after NA’s 2019.//





	A funeral for the stars up above

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [给天上星星的葬礼](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21124913) by [逆境顺转 (Sirius_Ica)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirius_Ica/pseuds/%E9%80%86%E5%A2%83%E9%A1%BA%E8%BD%AC). 

> It's my first time posting a fic here, I'm so scared >-< English is not my native language and I had no one to beta this so... Sorry in advance for broken English and logically confusing descriptions.  
This was inspired by Peter's video on twitter, damn I was crying all day and he posted that and... well I cried some more.  
I had been secretly writing lcs/lec for a couple years, but I never had the courage to post them... Pain is productivity *sigh*  
There is also an original Chinese version in case anyone is interested!

_ I buried in the ground the stars up above; _

_ Only to have them lit up the entire realm whereof. _

Doublelift was just crying before he decided to record the video.

Of course he has the right to cry, Nicolaj thought. Yesterday Rekkles cried, and Uzi cried. In a meta where the bot lane is filled with mages, unorthodox duos and Kaisa and Xayah, these three represented the long-standing legacy of traditional AD carries; they performed different roles for their team, got different results, and they were the ones who had the right to cry.

Peter _ had _ the right to cry. Nicolaj sat three steps away from him, holding his legs and burying his head between his knees.

But he did not.

He didn’t cry during the handshakes; he didn’t cry while exiting the stage; even in the backstage hallway, he was able to remain emotionless. The camera wasn’t on him: they broadcasted a silent Impact, a cloudy Jake and a devastated Core. Peter and he were the first to leave the stage, but they never talked.

No, that’s factually incorrect. Peter did speak up—“It’s not all your fault,” he said.

But Nicolaj was only able to reply with a forced, shaky voice: “Yes, it’s _ all _ my fault. I fucked up.”

He couldn’t manage to meet Peter’s eyes, so he just walked on. Not sure of where to go and, really, didn’t have a place to go. I fucked up, he thought, I ruined everything. I broke all the promises, made all the hope and glory nothing but a delusional fluke.

Every time he thought of this, he wanted to choke himself to death: To crack and break each and every one of these useless fingers; to crush, grind and squeeze that brain filled with misjudgements. But he couldn’t because the hands of pro players were precious, and all his did was desperately digging his nails further into the jacket.

His mind was surprisingly calm and distant, almost as if he was looking down at the room from up above. Peter was saying what he “needed to say”. The eyes of the strong and reliable AD carry flashed with tears, and Jensen hated himself for that.

“When I was on TSM,” Peter said, “No one stood up for me. That’s why I wanted to stand up for my teammates when they were getting unfairly blamed.”

How could he possibly have said that? Nicolaj wondered, how could he? Peter, that Peter who said so many times in the last game of a bo5 that we can win teamfight lets go; that Peter who said he wanted to win a championship for Jensen; that Peter who twisted his brows and laughed whenever Nicolaj forced him to make a tweet—how could he say that? Team Liquid’s AD carry was let down by this worlds, by him, by what he trusted the most, and beyond that Peter finally gained the praise he deserved. For the first time ever, he was not blamed for a short world’s run, and the first thing Peter thought to do was to tell the world that if they go down they go down together.

What did Jensen do to deserve this? Nicolaj wondered. What did he do to deserve the respect of someone this talented, the care of someone this gentle, and the forgiveness of someone this kind? 

It’s not even the first time the Danish mid laner was exposed to suffocating criticism. He thought he was over it. He thought he had finally grown strong enough to dismiss all the long, dark nights. But there he was questioning whether if he ever grew at all. It’s been two and a half years, five splits, he walked all the way along the redemption arc, but in the end, it was a circle and it took him right where he started.

And Peter was still the one who told him that it was not all on him.

The reason why Peter became who he is today, Nicolaj suddenly realized, was because he walked the same path as himself, only to be a step forward heading into every blizzard and every storm. 2017, the year Nicolaj smiled so hopefully and the year that made him never able to smile like that again; the spring finals where his teammates comforted him briefly and left his room one after the other—it was Peter, Doublelift, who left a heartfelt comment under his tweet. Peter said that he knew the feeling, said that it was hard, and said that even if it’s hard he hoped Jensen would find peace with himself.

Even if they were never close; even if they were opponents and remained rivals for a long time after that, Doublelift had always meant something more. Peter held out a hand for Nicolaj in his lowest times, and now he stood up for Nicolaj against the devastation brought upon them by the Dane himself.

“The game is not won off a single solo kill or lost off a single solo kill. We all fucked up,” Peter said, “our whole team fucked up.”

When he pressed his eyelids into the fabric, Nicolaj suddenly recalled that he didn't have the right to cry.

“I fucked up.” He heard his own voice say. The AD carry stopped in front of him, turned around, and looked down at him with imposing height.

“_We _ fucked up,” Peter said.

Core and Impact’s footsteps came from the end of the hallway, and Nicolaj bit his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m really really sorry. It’s on me.”

And he entered the team’s room as if he was running away, only to be confronted by the gazes inside. Each and every single one of the staff members, with their cloudy expressions, fixated him where he was. Nicolaj had nowhere to run and nothing to say.

That’s the moment when he wished he could disappear forever.

The hardest part was not the fuck-up itself, as Nicolaj had learnt in his four years of professional career, but the remorse and pain that accompanied the loss, coming back at every similar situation and haunting him at night, eventually solidifying itself into lethal fear. God knew how much he used to be eager for the final match of a bo5, only to never fully pick up his once signature champ again. He also used to get so excited when facing the best mid laners around the world; a life or death situation always urged him to perform.

Nicolaj wondered if he had lost that part of him already.

The uncertainty of the future fueled the pain. Peter said that don’t ever say to a pro player “better luck next year” because it’s so empty and far away, and Jensen secretly agreed with him. He was already exhausted trying to not be consumed by the present, thinking about hopeful futures was merely impossible.

“Our season ended,” Peter said. “We tried our best.”

Nicolaj couldn’t help but to sneak a peek at the AD carry’s face: That last choking syllable made his heart tremble. Peter needn’t experience this, Nicolaj thought desperately. As the one who did the most, performed the best and was let down the most, he needn’t undergo this extra punishment. Nicolaj peeked at his AD carry from his curled up position. Peter, who lowered his phone, was also looking at him—both ends of the gaze withdrew immediately after a touch, leaving a stinging sensation diffusing amongst the air.

“I’m tweeting it.” Eventually, Peter said.

Nicolaj nodded. Peter tapped at the phone screen, but Nicolaj knew he wasn’t editing the tweet—it had already shown up in his timeline, containing nothing but a video. Peter was just looking at him with the same expression as that in the video seconds ago, yet Nicolaj still stared at his screen, as if he wanted to make motion out of the motionless Doublelift.

“Would you like to watch?” Peter’s voice came from above. Nicolaj was clearly caught off guard, quickly looking up at his direction.

Peter was taller than him. Now that the AD carry stood beside the chair, he basically towered down on him. For some known reason, that made Nicolaj feel relieved rather than anxious. “I don’t reckon that’s a must, though,” Peter said, “It’s just what I was telling you, and you heard all of it.”

Nicolaj nodded again. He wanted to answer, but couldn’t make a sound; every effort ended up being a silent vent.

Peter came closer. While he was recording the video, Nicolaj tucked himself in the chair and turned away. But now that Peter sat on his bed, swung the armrest of the chair, the Dane was forced to face his direction as his seat rotated. Nicolaj was waiting for something to happen, but Peter remained silent. The two sat facing each other, one pulling up his leg on the chair and the other sitting on the bed. Peter was staring at him—his eyelids were puffy and red, but calmness had regained control of these black eyes.

Nicolaj followed Peter’s gaze downwards, only to find that they were fixed on his hands. He curled his fingers responsively, shifting them further up his knee. Nicolaj wasn’t looking for kind words, and Peter should know that better than anyone—After all, they had been in too many similar situations to not be able to sympathize with one another. 

But Peter had Søren then, Nicolaj thought. They were public friends. They understood and respected each other. And what’s his relationship with Peter?

Not business friends, of course. At the beginning of the year when he joined TL, many people thought they wouldn’t get along because their personalities clashed. But they were quick to become friends who can duo bot and trash talk all day long. There weren’t that many people in the league who can bounce Nicolaj’s trash talks right back and engage in a clever back-and-forth. If Rush was the first then Peter was probably the second. 

So they were friends. But everyone on TL was also a friend. Peter mentioned him but also Impact in the video, which meant he was just standing up for his teammates and friends, nothing more.

Nicolaj thought it was safest to leave it at that.

—Peter held out his hand and waved it in front of him.

But why didn’t this guy go out and get drunk with the others and blame the team for the loss, and instead had to shed tears in his room and record a video like that? 

“Nicolaj?” Peter said.

“Oh, huh?” Nicolaj was finally able to make a sound. It sounded weird, nothing like his usual voice, but it was better than silence. “So you are here,” Peter said, “I thought you ascended or something.”

“I’m not an ascension, I’m an incarnation,” Nicolaj said. It felt stupid as soon as he said it, so the mid laner chuckled at himself. His AD carry smiled at the sight; it was the most genuine smile on his face all night.

“All right, Incarnati0n,” Peter said. “What were you thinking just now?”

About you, Nicolaj thought. But he couldn’t say that out loud. His quick reflexes and smart comebacks were utterly useless.

“Don’t tell me you are still blaming yourself,” Peter said. “I know it’s hard for all of us, but it’s best to not think about it tonight.”

“Yeah, right,” Nicolaj had a reply ready at the tip of his tongue: because you are the expert to this kind of thing. But it was inappropriate and he had no right to make such a joke. The moment he swallowed these words, the dull pain spread from his chest once again, and breathing became difficult. “You are right,” he repeated.

“Well then, tell me what you were thinking about,” Peter said. “It’s better to talk it out, and we are on the same boat anyway.”

The Dane fiddled with his jacket unintentionally. He was neither the crying type nor the truth-telling type; it’s naturally difficult for him to lower his guards. Sure, he had no problem taking the blame and apologizing for his faults, but he never got used to exposing his vulnerability. His pride wouldn’t allow that.

“So you _ are _ blaming yourself,” Peter said. There was a certainty, sorrow, and a hint of anger in his tone. Nicolaj was suddenly ignited.

“And why am I not allowed to do that?” he was surprised by his own outburst, that Peter made him lose control. “It was all my fault. You were saying how a game is not lost by a solo kill, as if it was everyone's fault because they can't pull the team out of the hole I dug—but tell me, Peter, speak with your conscience and tell me, would we have lost if I didn’t get solo killed by Rookie in lane? Would we have lost if I was able to step up; if I played to the best of my abilities? Would we have lost if I wasn’t overconfident and tried to fight him head-on in lane; if I picked Zilean and played around you?”

He looked agitated, which surprised Peter for a second. Even during the heated arguments the team often had, Jensen rarely displayed strong emotions. He always lowered his gaze and spoke distantly whenever he was annoyed. And if he thought he was right, he would repeat his opinion, speaking with words and not volume. Nicolaj wasn’t hard to read, but Peter never thought he would open himself up like that. 

“Don’t...don’t you dare tell me that because the team can’t drag my corpse over the finish line, that it’s everyone’s fault. It just doesn’t work like this.”

Nicolaj’s voice grew quiet. He was picking at the jacket again. Peter reflexively reached over and covered his hand, relieving him out of the compulsive behaviour. Nicolaj squirmed at the touch. The Dane peeked at him with wide eyes. These eyes were watery, clear and reflective around the edges.

Peter steeled his heart.

“I’m not going to say that. Saying that would be irresponsible to you and the whole team. And I won’t say that you are not at fault either,” he said. “But you have to realize that no game is lost by one person. League is a team game. When I wasn’t performing at my best, you, Impact, Core, Jake… You guys all stepped up and carried my ass. When you are not doing well, we also want to do the same for you. How long have you been pro, Nicolaj?”

Nicolaj looked confused.

“Do you think this is the worst you’ve ever performed?” Peter went on to ask.

Nicolaj bit his lips and nodded.

“And everyone should be allowed a game, even a tourney, like that,” Peter said. “Even Faker, Rookie, Uzi… They weren’t bodying kids 24/7. You are human, Nicolaj. And it’s human nature to have ups and downs. When you weren’t at your best game, us, TL, we failed to realize and change and help you. _ That _ is the failure of the whole team. We are all to blame, so it’s not just an excuse to make you feel better.” TL’s AD carry looked at the mid laner deeply. 

“And I don’t think an excuse is what you need,” he said. 

Then what does he think I need? Nicolaj wondered. 

It’s as if he was experiencing deja vu. On the other night, Sneaky patted him on the shoulder, stood up, and headed for the door. “Goodnight,” said the AD carry whom Nicolaj had served for the entirety of his history as a pro player. “Let’s all get a good night's sleep. It’s not the end of the world.”

And, after everyone else, Zach left. They left him alone in the empty room. Alone with grey screens and flying skillshots and the endless night.

All of a sudden, Nicolaj was frightened.

“When you were on C9, what did they do?” Peter asked. “Oh, I’m not… I just, you know, when I was on TSM, I was basically left alone to deal with these nights.” There was sadness in his voice, Nicolaj could see traces of dried tears at the corner of his eye. “I feel you, Nicolaj,” Peter said. “I used to be the most hated player in LCS, and that had been you for a while now.”

So that’s why I want you to be happy. Peter wished he had the courage to say this out loud: and that’s why I want to see you celebrate and be a part of your success—and that’s why I don’t want you to walk the same path as I did.

Yet they started at the same place with nothing to their names and ended up doing the same thing at the same important moments. The scriptwriter was probably out of ideas so they kept recycling the same storyline. Nicolaj messed up the way he did, and now was getting all the flame the way he did.

But, the moment he saw Nicolaj’s eyes, Peter knew that he wouldn’t allow this person to suffer the way he did. Ever since the day Nicolaj Jensen stepped into the Team Liquid facility, Peter had somehow made a decision—that for every single match onwards, he would not be playing them solely for himself.

So if Nicolaj was to cry, Peter would not allow him to cry alone.

And Nicolaj grabbed the bottom of his shirt with those pale fingers.

“I’m sorry, Peter…” he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t make it.”

“It’s alright,” Peter felt his own voice tremble. “You can fulfill your promise next year.”

“But you just said that you hated ‘better luck next year’,” Nicolaj said. The way he argued was just like a difficult kid, and Peter couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s because it’s not ‘better luck next year’, but ‘we’ll do it next year’,” Peter held Nicolaj’s hand. It was cold, making him want to cover it and bring as much warmth as possible. It’s so weird that he felt empty and hopeless just a moment ago, but now he was already looking forward to next year.

“I’m never going to let anything like this happen again,” Nicolaj said. His nose was red, as if the tears would burst out at any time.

“You can cry, you have the right to cry,” Peter said. “I cried.”

“I have the right?”

“Of course,” Peter said. “We just came out of a crushing defeat, our season ended. Sure you’d have the right to cry.”

Nicolaj widened his blue eyes.

“I won’t cry,” he said. “But can you stay for the night?”

Peter said yeah before he was able to think these words through.

**Author's Note:**

> Beyond everything, I just wish the players find peace with themselves.  
Not to say "we'll get them next year", but as long as they are happy, content, able to enjoy the game and have the drive to win, there should be hope. The most devastating thing about this worlds is that it felt like NA has no hope... So if we can't live in an alternate universe where we played a little better (in Peter's words), at least I want to see an alternate universe where there is hope.  
There's still a lot I wanted to say about LCS and S9, but this is not the place. So I'll just leave it at that and for anyone who's reading lets cry together!!! (what  
I kind of want to post my other fics and work on some other ideas... but I'm socially inept and it's scary and my English sucked and my writing sucked so I'll just go back to my hole and evaporate...  
Thanks for reading tho! Hope you’d have a nice day!


End file.
